


Gods' Love

by TheSpanishMystic



Category: Saint Oniisan | Saint Young Men
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Blasphemy, Buddhism, Christianity, First Time, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpanishMystic/pseuds/TheSpanishMystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Jesus' and Buddha's feelings for one another grow stronger, the distance between them grows. They fear rejection from each other and rejecting their beliefs. But when they stop pushing each other away, they pull themselves together closer than ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With U

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus just wanted to see him.

The midmorning sun shone warmly through the windows, lighting the otherwise dim, sparsely furnished studio. Jesus felt it on his eyelids, almost stinging his eyes and finally awoke. He slowly sat up, refreshed after sleeping in, rubbing the goop out of his eyes with his hands. He knew he had a pleasant dream but couldn’t remember what he had dreamt of. There was an air of friendship, affection, kindness, warm colors, birds and rabbits flocking to a stoic golden figure… He placed his hand to his right, expecting to feel Buddha’s gentle shoulder under it. But he was alone. Instead his hand landed on Buddha’s futon. He had snuck out while Jesus was still sleeping. There was a note left on his pillow. Jesus picked it up to read it. It said:

“went to store to catch morning sale. didn’t wanna wake you up, sleeping beauty. be back soon!  
Buddha ヾ(｡･ω･｡)”

He just went to go grocery shopping, Jesus thought to himself. So we can eat. Jesus loved Buddha’s cooking. It wasn’t the best tasting food he ever had per se, but he could taste the heart and soul Buddha put into it. Still, he wished Buddha had woken him up to at least ask if he wanted to join him. He felt his heart sink a little, dragging down his mood with it. He was hardly ever apart from Buddha. He had grown accustomed to waking up next to him, watching him sleep, listening to his funny little noises and watching the cute little faces he made. Jesus always felt so safe in Buddha’s presence, with his calming Buddha smile and smiling eyes. He felt almost incomplete without him, a yang without its yin. Still sitting up, he grabbed the pillow Buddha sleeps on and held it close to his heart. He caught a whiff of Buddha’s scent on it. Musky, fleshy, floral, exotic. He closed his eyes, rubbed his cheek on the pillow like a cat leaving his mark, and imagined he was holding Buddha himself in his arms. He rocked back and forth so’s to comfort himself. His heart beat slowly sped up as blood rushed to every capillary in his body. Jesus thought of Buddha’s peculiar curly hair, how it looked when he wore it down. Velvety sepia curls cascading down his shoulders, his back, his chest, enveloping Jesus’ ribcage as if to draw him nearer.

Lingering over Buddha's fragrance was unbearable for Jesus. He scuttled over to the window facing the street, adjacent to the golden Buddha statue. He pushed back the curtain to look onto the street and see if his friend who he missed so dearly was returning yet. There were just random people passing by. Some alone, some not. He heaved heavily and bit his cheek, looking up to the statue, gazing down on their small apartment. He was hoping the figure would work as a placeholder for the real Buddha’s presence, but it didn’t have his warmth or spirit. A cold, gilded idol could never hold a candle to true flesh and blood. Jesus looked back out the window and saw his friend walking down the street. Joy and excitement swelled in his chest pushing his heart to the heavens. Buddha wore a faint half-smile on his oblong face and carried a bag with what appeared to be a daikon, some cucumbers, a cabbage, and other things he couldn’t make out inside it. Buddha was the more fiscally responsible of the two, so Jesus was sure everything in there was a real bargain but still fresh. There was a small breeze outside. Jesus savored the sight of Buddha’s droopy earlobes fluttering in the wind. Some people found his earlobes strange, but Jesus found them endearing. They reminded him of a dog’s ears, the way they dangled over his shoulders. Buddha never liked it when people touched them though, because they were so sensitive. When he reached the gate, he glanced up to the window and saw Jesus staring at him. He didn’t think much of it, though. He was just happy to see his face. He smiled at him, but Jesus was mortified and felt defenseless. He hid underneath the pane.

“Oh Geez,” Jesus yelled at himself in his head, “what am I doing? He saw me! He’s going to think I’m… Oh Father, I’m so confused! He’s my friend but he feels like more than that… I don’t know what to do! Oh no, did Buddha go without me because he didn’t want to be around me? But he called me a sleeping beauty! What did he mean by that? Father, I-”  
Before Jesus could finish his thought/prayer, the door began to open. Jesus rushed to the futons to store them back in the closet, make it appear he wasn’t just sitting and moping around waiting for Buddha to get back. Buddha stepped in, expecting to see a Jesus who was happy to see him but instead saw one who was almost mortified to be around him, fumbling with the bedding. He wondered to himself if and why Jesus was trying to avoid him. He set the groceries on the kitchen counter and asked Jesus if he was OK.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” he responded. “Just putting these things away."  
“You need help with that?” Buddha was genuinely confused and worried about Jesus. He was acting so out of character.  
“Um, nope! Nope nope nope it’s no big deal! I got it!” Jesus was so flustered he managed to trip over himself while walking the two feet over to the closet. He felt he was literally dying of embarrassment. Then it happened: his stigmata sprung out and there was blood running down his face. “I got it, it’s fine!”  
Buddha was shocked to see Jesus struggling so much and the blood. He yelled, “Jesus, you’re bleeding all over the futons!” He grabbed a towel to dab the blood off his face. “Just stop moving!” Jesus obeyed and kneeled down, bowed down his head in shame. Buddha knelt with him and gently blotted off the blood from his face. He could feel Jesus slightly shiver when he was stroking his face with the cloth. Soon he felt Jesus release his tension and surrender to his touch. He kept his eyes squarely on Jesus’ throughout even when Jesus kept his focused on the carpet. He could sense his inner torment, but where it came from he couldn’t deduce. 

“B-Buddha,” Jesus stuttered, “I’m sorry for acting so strange. I just-”  
“Don’t worry about it, my friend,” Buddha said in his most reassuring tone. “We all have our days when we are not quite ourselves and need those who care about us to lift us up again and remind us who we are.” Buddha placed his fingers under Jesus’ chin to raise his head and see Jesus’ now clean face. He tilted it left, then right, with caring to see if he missed a spot. Jesus saw he wasn’t flashing a Buddha smile at him but a true, kind smile. Jesus only managed to work up a half grin. There was no halo of light around Buddha’s head, but Jesus could feel his aura of understanding emanating off him.  
“Oh, Buddha…”  
“I’m just glad to see you.”

Jesus finally smiled. The weight on his heart lifted off into the air and he threw his arms around Buddha, his crown of thorns bursting into roses. He nuzzled his head under Buddha’s chin. Buddha hesitated at first, but then embraced him back. He stroked Jesus’s waves and gently rubbed his chin along Jesus’ crown, safe from his actual crown of thorns. His hair was soft and satiny, but he could also feel it was unwashed and uncombed. He discreetly sniffed his scalp and found the mixed scent of his unclean hair and roses soothing. It was… his. They stayed like this for a while, in each other’s arms, lightly leaning into each other. Gently massaging each other’s back with the tips of their fingers. Their breathing in perfect synchronization with one another, inhaling their aromas.

“I’m glad too see you too, B-Buddha.”


	2. Feel Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never noticed how long Jesus’ hair was until now...

The noodles and vegetables were simmering on the stove. Coming off it was a steady vapor scenting the small apartment. Buddha stirred the vegetables and noodles carefully and dropped in a few vegetable bullion cubes for added flavoring. Over the sound of the bubbling was typing. Between stirrings and samplings for taste he’d sneak long peeks of Jesus on his laptop. He assumed he was updating his drama blog, but then remembered he hadn’t been watching his stories like he normally does. He had seemed preoccupied for the past week and generally uncomfortable around him.

“What are you doing on your laptop, Jesus?” Buddha asked, just for the sake of saying anything to Jesus. Maybe this time he’d actually want to talk with him about… anything. _Like it’ll be better now._

“Just chatting with a fan,” he replied, eyes on the screen.

“Uh, what’re you chatting about?”

“Oh, you know, this and that…” his voice trailed off at the end of the sentence. Buddha didn’t inquire further because it was clear there was no point in trying to engage to him. These sorts of quasi-conversations had been the norm this past week. Buddha had tried talking to Jesus, hoping to draw out any sort of thought or emotion he might have been having but he never got more than seven words out of him at a time. Buddha barreled his chest and took a deep breath. _Lately this was all par for the course and this was just a nameless, faceless fan who had no real impact or significance in Jesus’ life_ , but he still couldn’t help but feel the sting of jealousy. Why should he care if Jesus just wants to talk online with a reader, follower, whatever Jesus calls them? He had been acting so aloof since Buddha went out to go shopping without him. He wondered if Jesus was still angry with him about that. He was so withdrawn, like he was purposely avoiding Buddha and making it as obvious as possible. Was he getting sick of him? _Oh no, is he getting sick of me? Is he angry? Did I do something to offend him? Is it still the shopping thing? Why is he doing this to me?_ Lost in thought, staring in no particular direction, he heard the sizzle of hot water boiling over the pot on the oven. It startled him back into the real world where he turned off the burner. Dinner was done, perhaps a bit overdone. He announced that dinner was ready.

“OK,” Jesus said flatly, not taking his eyes off the screen. Again with the aloofness. Buddha snorted loudly and furrowed his brow, trying to let the frustration slip off his shoulders while he was pouring his ramen into bowls for the two of them. He had to do _everything._ He got the table out, he set it, he set the food on it but Jesus didn’t appear to take any note of this. Buddha repeated that dinner was ready. Jesus couldn’t pretend to ignore him anymore. He put his laptop to the side and scooted to the table. No attempt to show gratitude, or to be glad he was about to eat. He wasn’t being particularly nasty about it, but he was so blasé about everything that it was still insulting. Buddha was the first to eat the ramen, noodles first. 

“It’s good! Try it!” Buddha was trying very hard to be kind. He was beginning to lose his patience. Jesus fumbled with the chopsticks, loudly slurped the noodles into his mouth. No response. No reaction. He kept his eyes on his hazy reflection in the broth, stirring the noodles and vegetables around and watching it distort his face. A whole week Buddha had to put up with this. A Jesus who was always so light-hearted, easy-going and always grateful became dull and distant, an affect hidden with put-on indifference. He just murmured to himself, could barely muster the motivation to shrug his shoulders. Buddha flipped.

“What is your problem?!” He shoved the table into Jesus’ stomach, dumping his ramen bowl onto his sweater and lap and spilling Buddha’s own bowl all over the carpet. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, I’m always nice to you, I thought we were friends and you used to be fun to be around and now all you do is just ‘chat with fans’ and eat and read your magazines! You don’t even care that _I’m_ the one feeding you because you can’t be bothered to learn to cook! Why are you being such a jerk? You know what? Make your own dinner and clean your own stupid clothes.”

“I-I’m sorry, Buddha, it’s just-“

“Just what?”

 _Do I dare say it?_ “Nothing.” Jesus was aware of his behavior. Buddha’s gut was right; Jesus had been behaving like this on purpose. Unfortunately he did too good a job pretending to not care about Buddha, or feel anything for him, but he did. He really did. It would either be that or constant outbursts of emotion and affection that Buddha perhaps would not requite.  He couldn’t even look at him, he was so ashamed and he was trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes.  “I’ll clean it up. And this up. And that up,” referring to the blood on his face and the stains on his clothes. “I’m sorry”. 

Buddha instantly regretted losing his cool at Jesus. He couldn’t withstand seeing Jesus hurt so much because of his own loathsome behavior. He felt he’d choke when he tried to speak. Unable to apologize, he started walking towards the door saying nothing, stared at his feet shuffling on the floor. Before he opened it, he turned around to look at his wounded friend one more time. And what he saw. Oh Lord, what he saw. 

Jesus had taken his sweater and jeans off and stood at the sink, about to rinse the stains out. In his socks. And underpants. Briefs. White briefs. He couldn’t help but stare. He had seen Jesus in a swimsuit before but something felt different… how he felt this time, astonished, scared of the excitement. He never noticed how long Jesus’ hair was until now, how it grazed his waist and the small of his back. It was thick and coarse but his body hair was surprisingly fine. His eyes rolled down the tone of his deltoids, along the curvature of his tricep, around to his back, his hamstrings, ample muscle with supple padding. When has he ever seen him work out? They tried before but it was a bust, _was he just naturally that_ … Buddha caught himself before he could finish his thought. Jesus turned around and saw him staring at him, looking almost possessed. “Buddha? What are you staring at?”

 _Oh no_ , he was busted. He was so mortified his body froze but it still trembled. His face was burning red and he could practically feel the sweat on his face boil to steam. He could only utter half words. Sensory overload. He felt around for the doorknob behind him, escaped and slammed the door by accident.

“Hey, you need to keep it down over there!” Sachiyo shrieked at them. Buddha heard her but the words didn’t register. Familiar sounds and noises turned into muzzled hums of various pitches. Objects and patterns became clumps of colors in abstract shapes. He could only focus on his embarrassment, his nastiness to Jesus, Jesus… he made his way downstairs to sit outside the gate. 

 _When I was living in my palace I was given every sexual pleasure known to man_. _Nonstop orgies meant to keep me from fulfilling my destiny, my beautiful wife. Constant gratification and ecstasy but it was ultimately empty and pointless._ He really felt his whole life he never had a real equal.

He had his father, servants, women, his wife, his students, other people who passed him by, but did he ever have a friend? No, he realized. Jesus was his only friend. His one true equal. In the time they’d spent together in that cramped studio he had grown so fond of him. The perfect companion on a trip to Earth. But then he had to explode at Jesus when he could have actually been struggling with something. It would explain why he was so distant. He had tried reaching out to Jesus but he kept pushing him away. But he blew his top and blew it. He screamed at his only friend, his only equal, screamed at him for being depressed. He triggered his stigmata and even worse, he made him cry. And then Jesus had to take his shirt off and get out of those damn jeans to show off that… oh no. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, or think it. He held the words back but the images flashed crystal clear in his mind. Buddha could escape the sight but not the vision. The thought but not the feeling.


	3. Yr Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His Father came to him.

One day had passed since the explosion, but it felt like an agonizing eternity of silence, interrupted only by robotic exchange of words as needed.  They spent the day out of the apartment, separate. They shopped alone, toured alone, ate alone. Jesus had to remove his crown of thorns so he wouldn’t hemorrhage stigmata the whole day. They slept that night on opposite sides of their studio rather than next to each other. No goodnight. Despite keeping as much distance between them as they could, they yearned to reconnect; they both recognized they made mistakes they had to own up to. But they feared how each of them would react, what would arise from them that they’ve succeeded in suppressing. They feared their friendship was ruined beyond repair and preferred to avoid confronting the disaster, ride it out until the situation became absolutely unbearable or until it was time to go back to heaven. Jesus had spent the day praying to his father for advice, an intervention, a miracle, anything to fix this problem. He received no response. 

The next day came and Buddha was already gone when Jesus woke. No note. His shikibuton was still out. Jesus just turned over and tried to go back to sleep. A half hour passes, Jesus is still awake. He longed to spend real time with Buddha but was too scared to reach out. _He thinks I’m lazy ungrateful he hates me and I just want him to love me, love me but what’s to love?_ The thought shocked him. He finally made his confession. He just wanted to shower Buddha in affection and love and and wanted to receive it back. The honesty overpowered him, not just because he had to surrender to his emotions but because he had to yield to the pain of knowing Buddha may never feel the same, and this could permanently sever their bond. Game over. The thought of losing him forever, spending his last moments with his friend, _my love,_ on Earth and then losing him in heaven forever… he mourned the perceived loss of Buddha and sobbed uncontrollably into his pillow. 

After the catharsis, Jesus felt only hollow and sick. He managed to get up and get himself a glass of water in the kitchen. He drank it, leaning on the wall, too weak to support his own body weight. His hand shook holding the cup. Splashes of water flew out and wet the floor. More water settled around his feet than inside of him. Streams of tears began to come down again. _I can’t even drink a stupid glass of water! I’m utterly useless, Buddha will never love an idiot like me. If my father hasn’t forsaken me he will soon. It’s over._ He sunk to the floor in defeat. He curled into a ball, covering his face, shying away from the light so’s to hide himself from the world at large. 

 

Jesus lost track of how long he spent in that fetal position. He returned to calling out to his Father, reciting the Lord’s Prayer _._ Then, in a flash of  brilliant, blinding light, the windows flew open and the light flooded the apartment. It burned and stung but was full of… love. It was that powerful light of unconditional compassion and love that he knew was his

“Father?” Jesus whimpered. 

The light cleared out as a pure white dove flew in. “Hello, my son.”

“Father!” Jesus lunged forward to the God Dove with his arms outstretched, hands supine to hold his Father. The tears came again, but they were tears of joy for once. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why do you apologize, my child? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I know, I know. Buddha wronged me, but I wronged him first by snubbing him, and I haven’t yet forgiven him for his trespasses. And, Father… I…” he knew He already knew. He still felt compelled to finish his sentence, but his own disbelief of the words about to slip through his teeth held them back.

“You love him, my Son.”

It was  that moment of truth. Jesus grew more apprehensive the longer he stalled. _Honesty is virtue. Honesty is virtue._ “Father, I think I might be-“

“Gay.”

Jesus again knew He knew this and knew what he’d say but hearing the word still petrified him. “I wouldn’t say gay, Father…”

“What then? Homosexual? A gay homosexual? A 7 on the Kinsey scale?” 

“Father!” _Oh no, will he forsake me?_

“Of course I will not forsake you. I’ve always known.” _Duh, of course he has._ “But seriously my child, come on, you’ve never been interested in women. All your apostles were men. There were plenty of qualified women to spread the Good News but you chose to surround yourself with dudes. One of them betrayed you! You even chose a man to act as your vicar. You hung out with a prostitute, for My sake. She was a total fruit fly. Did you not get that?”

Jesus was shocked by the words coming out of his Father’s mouth. Why had he never seen this side of him?

“I know my Word has gotten hopelessly lost in translation over the millennia, hysterics saying I hate all who are not straight. The Catholic Church sure will not relent on it, continuing the tradition of keeping the Priesthood a man’s only club. If only they knew their preference for men bore from your preference for men, you know what I mean? Get it?” _Oh no, Father, don’t try to make a joke._ “Heh heh. Anyway, how could an all loving God hate his own son? You love who you love.”

“But Father, what if he doesn’t feel the same?” _Please just tell me if Buddha wants me too. I can’t risk rejection!_

“You can’t decide to not pursue love because your love may not feel the same. You must be bold and righteous. If you don’t sell, no one will buy. But take it slow. Baby steps, my Child.”

Jesus stood into his Father’s beady eyes, feeling the love and validation he craved his whole stay on Earth. “I know what I need to do, Father. Thank you.”

“Blessed be you, my Son. Do not be afraid. Forgive him, and go for it. Then go nuts on him.” He opened his wings to fly back home. “Thanks be to Me.”

“Thanks be to You…” he watched Him fly out in perfect grace. 

 

He had truly been brought back from the emotional dead. Sachiyo must’ve seen Him fly out because he could hear her screaming about no pets. It was no matter to him, just shut the windows. His depression had left him pale, but his new found confidence drove his blood to every vessel in his body, filling him with warmth and rosing his cheeks. _What time is it? Eh, doesn’t matter._ After being lifted from sorrow he could finally feel bodily feelings, like hunger. His belly rumbled and fluttered. He inspected the refrigerator for something to eat. Leftovers, some raw vegetables, milk, a peach. He grabbed the peach and bit deep into it, savored its subtle, sweet flavor and let the fluid from it seep down his face. A stay on Earth entitled him to some Earthly pleasures. Fresh, delicious produce, making a mess, satisfying other desires. He sat back down in the common room and enjoyed his peach. 

Buddha had returned. He opened the door, but stood in the doorway. He had hoped Jesus would be out but he was sitting there. He wondered if he should just leave, or endure his presence. 

“Hello, Buddha!”

“…What?” _Did he just say hello? He looks, better._

Jesus stood up, peach pit in hand, and got up to dump it out and welcome Buddha back to their home. “Don’t just stand there, come in! ”

“Jesus, are you feeling OK?”

Jesus closed the door and led him into the main room, and sat down with him. “Buddha…”

“Yes?” _Oh dear, what is this?_

Jesus suddenly felt uncertain about confessing his love. _Baby steps_. “I, I apologize for my behavior this past week.”

“What?” Buddha was genuinely surprised. He couldn’t pin down if it was because he felt Jesus didn’t owe him an apology or if he was expecting, hoping, he’d say something else.

“I apologize for snubbing you that past week. I felt I had put you off when I was acting strange that one day, and was avoiding you thinking that’s what you’d prefer. But obviously, it wasn’t. So I am sorry for behaving so selfishly. I do appreciate everything you do for the apartment, for me. I don’t want to lose our friendship. I cherish it more than anything on heaven or Earth.” He spoke with his familiar gentle tone, never letting his smile down. He was happy again. Finally. Thank God.

“Jesus, no… I should be apologizing! I should have sensed you were blue but I blew up at you like that and made you bleed and cry, and I haven’t been able to stand myself because of it. I couldn’t stand being around you because I was so ashamed. I’ll never do anything like that again!” The words barreled out of him nonstop. He raised his voice but it came from earnestness, not anger. He couldn’t be angry with someone like him.

“I forgive you.”

“Wha? Just like that?”

“Of course, I’m Jesus.”

“Ah ha, right. But we have to really communicate with one another now, OK? This can’t happen again!”

“Right. Keep nothing secret. Communicate openly.” _How openly? I don’t think I’m ready to be that forthcoming yet._ Again he felt shaky. _Baby steps. Baby steps._


	4. Know Where

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "JESUS, GET OFF MY DICK!"

The clouds cleared way to expose a marine blue sky and something something sun. All that light could not outshine the glow coming off Jesus and Buddha, the joy coming off them. They walked through the streets of Tachikawa with their arms around each other’s shoulders and whispering unknowns into each other’s ears. Passersby gave them uncomfortable glares but the two paid no mind; those strangers only wished they had a piece of their bliss.

 

A few days earlier, during one of their open and honest talks, Jesus confessed he was tired of wearing the silk screen print shirts and stiff, generic jeans. 

“I found this ad,” Jesus said, “for a sale at that discount clothing store. I just want to buy one new shirt.” He drew out the one for emphasis and endearment. “Please?” Drawing out his vowels and whining. 

Jesus put on his best adorably-helpless-puppy face. Buddha knew Jesus was just goading him on, and knew he couldn’t refuse. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Jesus shot his arms up in victory. These small gestures of loosening his grip on their budget and blah were little victories for Buddha in his own right. 

After deep introspection Buddha could only accomplish in solitude, he realized he had grown very anxious on Earth. To let go of his worries would relax the home environment and himself. This once again calm Buddha also became more approachable. Jesus took advantage of this in his own sort of innocent way. Like asking for money to buy a new item of clothing, or to eat out together. Small things. Jesus knew both their limits. He also took more liberties with the physical contact they made. He snuck in small brushes on Buddha’s hand, playfully squeezing his knee, resting his head on his shoulder. Jesus would have stopped if Buddha gave any indication that this made him uncomfortable. But Jesus could feel Buddha give in to his touches.

 

They strolled through the streets to their local bargain clothing store. Jesus knew he was on a tight budget, so he could buy only one thing, but he still loved to try on clothes and pose like a male model. Buddha approached the entrance with dread, knowing Jesus would try and spend more than they could afford. Seeing Jesus’ triumphant smile, with his impossibly immaculate teeth, like his soul, and his face… he couldn’t resist him.

 

Racks full of cheap second hand clothes outlined the perimeter of the store with bins in the center, with mass-produced jeans and a rainbow palette of cotton crew t-shirts. Buddha could almost see the halo around Jesus’ head sparkle. He rushed to the racks and ran through the men’s slacks. He stopped on one pair, let out a small gasp, and yanked it out.

“Buddha, these would look so good on you!” It was a slim fitting pair of warm yellow khakis, marked down 50 percent. Buddha’s eyes went blank.

“I thought _you_ wanted to buy something for yourself. We can’t afford to buy clothes for me, too.”

“C’mon,” Jesus whined, “you don’t own any nice pants.” He instantly regretted saying that as he could see he had offended Buddha. “Can you just try them on, for me?” Jesus flashed his same irresistible baby face.

 _Ugh, he’s doing it again. Fine, I’ll just try them on._ “For you.” Buddha grabbed the pants from him and went into the dressing room, not pleased to do this. Jesus noticed but it didn’t bother him much. He went perusing around the store for clothes he’d try on himself.

 

Buddha checked himself out in the mirror in the dressing room, inspecting the close fit of the pants. They were much snugger than he was accustomed to. He hiked his knees up to his chest and moved his hips around to check what range of motion they’d allow. The fabric had a decent amount of give without looking cheap or overly casual. The pants were not uncomfortable but Buddha felt uncomfortable in them.

“Buddha, come out of there! I want to see you!” 

A flash of warm rushed through Buddha’s face and down his stomach. He couldn’t place why he felt so silly in the pants. He shuffled out the dressing room anyway, his chin half-tucked into his neck. Jesus’ whole face grew wide when he saw him in khakis. He traced the contours of the slim silhouette of his legs with his eyes, slowly moving up from Buddha’s ankles to his waist. Buddha stood stiff, his feet rooted in the linoleum floor, unmovable. The curtain to the dressing room was still open; Jesus noted the mirror behind Buddha and leaned his side. He got a view of him from behind. Jesus’ smile turned down. His gaze was fixed on Buddha’s butt, the only reason Jesus pestered him into trying the pants on. His 90s style jeans didn’t do it proper justice. Buddha looked up and saw Jesus staring into the dressing room, wearing a new crisp white linen shirt. What he was staring at he wasn’t sure of.

“Uh, Jesus?”

Jesus half-heard him, still staring at his butt. His lids fell heavy and his eyes were glazed. He muttered to himself, “Buddha…”

Buddha wondered what was wrong with Jesus. He spun around to see what Jesus was staring at and saw nothing but himself. It dawned on him that Jesus was staring at him. When the image in the mirror shifted Jesus snapped back into reality. _Did he notice me checking out his ass? Oh no, this is too soon!_ Buddha turned around, unable to work out what he was feeling other than disbelief. He tried to compose himself. 

“I, I think I’d like to buy these pants…”

 

For dinner they ate instant rice out of plastic bowls sitting in their laps. They say facing one another, so close their knees were touching. Buddha wore his new pants and Jesus wore his new shirt. They reached a compromise. Since they went over their budget, Jesus and Buddha had to subsist on cheap, ready-to-make foods.

“Don’t get any stains on that shirt, Jesus. It’s dry clean only.” 

Jesus paused from eating to respond, “I _knooow,_ Buddha. You shouldn’t have let me buy this.” He playfully nudged at his thigh.

“But you really seemed to like it, and you looked really good in it, so I—“

“Really?” Jesus gazed into Buddha’s eyes, waiting for reassurance. He had never noticed before he had sprinkles of emerald and honey in his otherwise brown irises. “You think this looks good on me?”

“Well, yes. I figured you thought these pants looked good on me, so…” their eyes traveled down to ogle each other’s new purchases, then met again. 

“They do, they, you know, fit well.” Jesus shyly turned his head away; he felt a little embarrassed admitting it. 

“But they feel tight around the waist.” Buddha lifted his shirt to show the small flab hanging over the waistband. “Look at this! The saints always try and keep me fat, you know that.”

“You’re not fat, Buddha! You’re just fine. Besides, I…” Jesus could hardly believe the words were about the slip through his lips. He looked away, struggling to be fully open and honest.

Buddha set his bowl to the side and leaned in. “You what?” 

“I… I think it’s cute. It’s… soft.” He finally found the strength to bring his head back up. Buddha was just inches from his face.

“No, not really. I wish I had a body like yours. Toned, but sturdy.”

Both their faced were flushed red and their breaths quickened. “Buddha,” Jesus moaned.

Buddha was speechless. They sat looking at each other, afraid to make a move and hoping the other would. In an instant, Jesus’ lips were pressed on Buddha’s. He heaved and his chest trembled with the exhales. He opened his mouth to let Jesus’ in. Jesus shifted his weight forward and Buddha surrendered under the force of Jesus’ perfect, slim yet sturdy body.

  

Their hands roamed across each other’s faces and torsos. They were both too excited to let them settle in one place or to try to come up for breath. Their bodies ached with ecstasy as they sucked on each others’ lips and wrestled with their tongues. Buddha combed his fingers on one hand through Jesus' thick tangled curls and creeped his other hand down to grab Jesus' ass. Firm. Raw. His new pants grew tighter. _Why are the saints fattening me up now?_ It was uncomfortable to feel so engorged but was finally tasting Jesus and grabbing at his waist and feeling his hot breath as he let out moans that he ignored it. He realized the saints did not plump him up when Jesus started rubbing his crotch. Buddha pulled his head away and looked down to see his old friend get manhandled by his new lover through his new pants. He suddenly felt like a spectator of some unholy act. In panic he shoved him away.

“JESUS, GET OFF MY DICK!” Buddha forced the words out with his labored breathing. 

Jesus sat back in shock and hurt. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“We’re saints! I’m a holy man!” Buddha yelled partly at Jesus, mostly at himself. “Physical desires lead me astray from enlightenment. My life’s work was built upon freeing yourself from carnal attachments to see truth.”

“I thought you wanted me.” Jesus’ jaw trembled while he bit down on his lower lip. His saline tears burned his eyes. Buddha had made Jesus cry again. He could almost see his heart shatter into pieces that fell on the floor with his tears. Buddha’s heart broke with his. He searched his once pure mind for words to say, but nothing came to mind. He didn’t know what else to say except, “I need to go meditate.” 

He grabbed a sweater and headed out the apartment. Before walking away, he stood outside the shut door and could hear his only friend wail and sob. He took in large gulps of air and looked up to keep himself from crying. 

 

He sat cross legged at the nearest Buddhist temple with his back straight on the hard granite floor and sucked in the smoke from the sandalwood incense through his nostrils. He breathed it in at a slow, steady pace to calm his heart and clear his mind. To his shock, his mind hd a mind of his own. He found himself worrying that the monks would either recognize him from New Year’s or that they’d recognize him as the Buddha himself. Before he could savor the space created inside himself when he let the thoughts float away, images of Jesus were projected onto the backs of his eyelids. All his silly smiles, stupid faces, earnest rants about his drama shows and all his memories of their time together played on repeat. The strong scent of the sandalwood reminded him of Jesus. He always took him to be the more feminine of the two but he had a musky, masculine scent that was more intoxicating than the wine he made from water. He saw the sunlight shimmer off his hair and dazzle in his eyes. He couldn’t shove the thoughts out and they would not pass. There was no escape. All Buddha could do was meditate on the visions of this beautiful god man. In the fraction of a second between one image and another he grasped the answer he’d been searching for. He was enlightened. Again. He shot up off the ground in victory and his halo burst forth with conspicuous flame.

He proclaimed out loud, “all of this time I thought spiritual enlightenment could only be achieved by one person by himself. I did not consider that the joining of two souls in carnal ecstasy can bring out one spiritual being rising in consciousness! I have been causing myself suffering by denying my desires for the man I love, the man I crave and hunger for. He kindles the flames in my loins that burn to catch fire with his. Together they blaze and create such energy it illuminates our souls and grants us the opportunity to gain a deeper understand of ourselves and each other!” Throughout Buddha’s monologue the monks gawked at him and cowered in the corner. “Together we can reach nirvana! I know where I belong. I belong with Jesus.” His halo faded as he made his way out the temple. He wished the monks a good evening, oblivious to the spectacle he made.

 

He returned to the apartment complex. It was now late, so he unlocked and opened the door as quietly as he could so’s not to wake his resting future lover. He tiptoed inside and saw him sleeping on the floor alone. He could see that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and was reminded Jesus was not just a vehicle to reach enlightenment, but a man of sexy flesh and desire that scorched his bones. The tightness in his pants returned. _I can’t believe I’m about to do this…_

Buddha went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet. He controlled his breath and whispered encouragement to himself as he took off his snug khakis and pulled out his penis. The veins running along its periphery protruded through the skin of his cock. He felt it throb with every beat of his heart. The slightest touch sent shivers down his down and through his cock. He grabbed the economy-sized bottle of off brand body lotion on the floor and pumped out a handful. He grasped his boner and rubbed along the shaft. Buddha hadn’t relieved himself sexually in millennia; he had to bite on his hand to muffle his moans and whimpers. He continued to jerk himself off, speeding up the rhythm and biting down harder. The pain of his teeth digging into his skin became unbearable but he was so close to the edge. He couldn’t hold it back; he came for the first time in thousands of years. He released his teeth’s grip and let out a bellowing howl. He leaned back on the tank and felt his feel-good neurotransmitters release crashing waves of pleasure through his body. After sitting in this hallowed space between consciousness and mental alertness, he sat up to see he left a sticky mess on the floor and sink. He cleaned up his DNA, and went to join Jesus in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to come out for those who were waiting! This one is extra long, rimshot. Hope y'all enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> chapter titles come from Holy Other's EP _With You_ because I can and it's a good EP. Hence the text message spelling. You should go legally enjoy it.
> 
> feedback is greatly appreciated!


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